Frisbee Read online

THIRTY-SIX

  We rested a bit longer in the comforting shade, letting Frisbee finish up his dog nap. None of us spoke, but all of our thoughts were on Donald Miller.

  Would he really die, I wondered? Surely Cory’s information must be wrong. Donald was only a kid. He was my age. It didn’t seem possible to me for God to take a child that young.

  But of course He did. He did every day. Maybe sometimes He needed to. I was always told that God had a plan for each of us even if it involved being taken back early. It may seem cruel that He did it, but it’s just all part of His crazy plan.

  When I was little I always believed that life was like some twisted play and I was the lead character. My family and close friends were my supporting cast. Other people around town, the people I didn’t know as well, had the walk on roles. People like Donald and the girls that had been murdered.

  What was there significance in all this? And when I die, at say the ripe old age of eighty and the final curtain falls, will God (the director) be there with everyone that had a part in my life in a great cloud filled room? Will God say, “Alright people, that’s a rap. You all did a great job. I was really impressed by each and every one of your performances. Oh, and Donald, I was looking for a little more agony in your death scene but other than that you bagged it. Ricky, you’ve been a terrific leading man. You did well. Now, everyone, let’s go to the rap party.”

  Yeah, life is strange, cruel, sad, beautiful and at times unforgiving and should never ever be trusted. But we all have a part to play no matter how big or small the role.

  I just hoped I didn’t get killed off before the second act.

  That would suck.

  Frisbee finally raised his head up and gave a soft snort, letting us know he was awake.

  Steve reached over from where he sat and gave him a scratch on his chin. “Hey, boy, get a good rest?”

  We all wanted to move in and start giving him affection but at the same time didn’t want to smother him. We had just found him and inside we felt he needed time to get used to us.

  “Hey,” Steve said. “Why don’t we take him back to my house and get him something more to eat, something better than half a bologna sandwich? We’ve still got some of those ribs that my mom made from the party last night, although I think we may have to eventually scrape some money up and buy him some real dog food.” Then he looked down at Frisbee. “That is if he decides to stay with us.”

  Frisbee stared at Steve, a melancholy look on his fuzzy mug.

  “I hope he does,” I said.

  “Me too,” Jason and Cory said together.

  “Yeah,” Steve whispered. With his hands on his hips he blew his bangs out of his eyes. “Come on.”

  We grabbed our tools, left our fort and headed back toward Cottonwood, Frisbee following close behind.

  When we got to the corner of Magnolia and Fullerton the dog stopped and stared at the abandoned house that stood silent and ominous across the street. He sniffed the air for a moment and let out a small whine. I was the only one to notice this as the three others boys trekked ahead and crossed at the corner.

  Had the dog smelled or sensed something odd about the house? Did he feel the presence of the ghosts that lurked inside? Or was the house just as creepy to him as it was to us?

  I patted my thigh once and got his attention back to following us. He needed no more coaxing the rest of the way back. He just went about his doggy business as we led on, sniffing here, pissing there. Once it looked as if he needed to crap, but nothing came.

  I kept checking over my shoulder just to make sure he didn’t wander off and found that no matter what he explored along the way, he was good to keep up. As we passed by Mr. Gagner’s once again, no confrontation ensued. Not with him or his St. Bernard, Ben. We rounded the corner and walked down our street, each of us finding himself looking at the Miller’s house as we went past. It had always been pretty quiet there, but that day it gave off a sad vibe as if it were an empty house in a ghost town on a deserted island. Frisbee was the only one that seemed not to take notice.

  We quickly put our tools back at home and then met Steve in his driveway. He seemed to be formulating a plan. He said, “Alright, my mom shouldn’t be home for another couple of hours. I can probably talk her into letting me keep Frisbee in the backyard. I’ll just tell her we found him wandering around and it might take a couple of days to find his owner.”

  “I don’t want to find his owner. I want to keep him,” I pleaded.

  Cory turned to me and in a soothing, friendly voice, said, “Don’t worry, Ricky. It’s just what he’s going to tell his mom. A little white lie. We’re not going to really try to find his owner, right Steve?” I was actually taken aback by the way Cory spoke to me, kindness in his voice rather than meanness.

  “Oh, we’re gonna keep him,” Steve assured me. “After a few days I’ll tell her that we’re still trying to find the owner. That we put up a few signs around the neighborhoods. After about a week, I’ll talk her into letting him stay for good. I’m pretty sure she’ll go for it.”

  This was fantastic news. We all hoped it would work. Jason and I wouldn’t be able to keep him at our house. We doubted Cory’s parents would want a dog at theirs. So Steve’s plan had to work.

  Frisbee sat on his back legs, watching as we made arrangements for him. “Okay, but where is he gonna sleep?” Jason asked. “I mean, no offense, Steve, but you don’t have the best looking backyard.”

  “I know. I know,” Steve said. “I’m gonna have to get back there and clean it up. It shouldn’t take more than a morning to do it.”

  “We can all help,” Jason volunteered. Cory and I said nothing, knowing that we’d be happy to make Frisbee as comfortable as possible. More chores. I thought we’d been done with those when we finished weeding the side hill at our house. But then we’d gone to clean up the Tree and now this. It would all be worth it though.

  Steve said, “I was thinking on the walk home. We’ve still got the box that our washing machine came in from a few weeks ago in my garage. I know it’s not much, but if we turn it sideways and put a blanket inside, he could use it for a doghouse.”

  We nodded our agreement.

  Steve bent low and wrapped his arms around Frisbee’s neck, petted his back. “I’ll do the best for you, boy. It won’t be much, but I hope you’ll like it.”

  Frisbee licked him on the mouth and Steve smiled back. He stood up and turned to us and said, “Why don’t you guys take him around back. I’m going to go inside and grab a bowl of water and those ribs. I’ll meet you out there.”

  It was Cory who asked the question that I was thinking.

  “Is Jacob here?”

  “I don’t think so,” Steve answered. He left late last night and didn’t come home this morning. We should be cool. Jackie went to work with my mom, so we should have the place to ourselves until they come back.” He then gave us a shooing motion with his hands to get us moving around back.

  Jason, Cory and I led Frisbee around to the side of his house. The gate that led to the backyard leaned awkwardly on its hinges like an oversized tombstone. Jason had to use both hands to lift it while he used his side to push with. It gave a faint squeak and scraped the dirt, leaving a fantail. The guys and the dog walked along the side of the house ahead of me. I closed the gate behind us the best I could, but had to leave it slightly ajar. A few feet in, on the ground, a puddle had formed in the dirt from where the exhaust vent for the dryer had leaked. This puddle never seemed to dry and each time we went back that way we had to avoid it so we wouldn’t get our shoes muddy.

  There was a window above and to the left of the vent. It was Jackie’s window. Each time I passed it I would glance over in the hopes of finding her changing inside but never had any such luck.

  I caught up with Jason and Cory who were standing on the cement slab of Steve’s back patio with Frisbee. As we waited for him we surveyed his backyard and thought of the work that would need to be done to it.r />
  The lawn, if you could call it that, had been dead for as long as any of us could remember. Jacob never seemed to do any chores around their house and Steve was left to do the yard work. Weeds grew up around the fence line and paper and other trash had blown about and never been picked up. Seven or eight Budweiser cans lay scattered around as well. We had our work cut out for us.

  When Steve finally came out the sliding-glass-door he was holding a metal bowl full of cool water and he placed it down in front of the dog who began lapping greedily. He went back in and within a few seconds brought out the last of the ribs his mom had made, still in the glass pan, and set them down next to the bowl.

  After a moment, Frisbee stopped slurping the water and looked down at the pan, muzzle dripping. He looked up at Steve as if he wasn’t sure if the ribs were meant for him.

  “Go ahead. Eat up,” Steve said and we watched the dog bury his face in the pan and demolish the ribs, leaving nothing on the bones.

  “Man, he was hungry,” Jason, said.

  “There’s more where that came from, boy,” Steve assured him. “As long as you stay, I’ll take good care of you.”

  “Hey,” Jason said and smacked Steve’s arm.

  “Sorry,” Steve corrected. “We’ll take good care of you.”